


they're opposites, really (love, ownership)

by rottencloset



Series: bottom damian wayne week 2020 [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - No Capes, Ambiguous Age, Anal Sex, BDWW 2020, BDWW2020, Bottom Damian Wayne, Bottom Damian Wayne Week, Damian Wayne is a Brat, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Possessive Dick Grayson, Possessive Sex, Praise Kink, Protective Behavior, Protective Dick Grayson, Sex Toys Under Clothing, Table Sex, dick grayson in this fic: talk shit get hit, softer than the tags make it seem to be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:15:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27324100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rottencloset/pseuds/rottencloset
Summary: Dick's the righthand man of Gotham's biggest mobster, so occasionally he has to clean up some, ah,trash. As usual, Damian makes things both better and worse.Not that Dick minds very much.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Damian Wayne
Series: bottom damian wayne week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1994908
Comments: 10
Kudos: 108





	they're opposites, really (love, ownership)

**Author's Note:**

> this goes out to kat. i did it. i included the red cocktail dress
> 
> quote at the beginning and and end is from the haunting of bly manor and the last sentence is mine. also shoutout to all my cool moots who've inspired me aka interacted with me for five seconds
> 
> first fill for bottom damian week. letsa go
> 
> Mafia AU / Undercover / ~~Vampire AU / Concubine!Damian~~
> 
> TW://  
> Semi-graphic violence  
> Death of minor background character  
> Brief implied relationships (Jason/Dick, Jason/Damian- could be platonic or not)  
> Slight oocness  
> Gun violence  
> Damian Wayne in a dress :)  
> Copious amounts of cuddling  
> Dick Grayson Unironically Kills a Man (it's ok he deserved it)

_"People do, don't they? Mix up love and possession. I don't think that should be possible. They're opposites, really: love and ownership."_

—

Dick shook out his hands, anxious, and inhaled in one more deep breath before he slipped on his new black leather gloves. They creaked with the swivel of his wrist, crackling uncomfortably with the new position and stretch and God, he can relate. He’s stiff and rigid too, but- he can do this. He knew he could do this, just like he knew these gloves would soften with time. All he had to do was take the plunge and, well. Falling was never something he’d been afraid of, even after his parents died. 

If anything, it was the impact. 

Adjusting his tie, he stepped towards the door- towards his future- and didn’t look back. 

—

Years passed, and Dick climbed the latter to the very top of the food chain. It took grit and effort, blood and tears and sweat, but he’d achieved what had seemed to be impossible so long ago; he’d become the right hand man to none other than Bruce Wayne himself. 

So here he was, looking at a bunch of sorry sons of bitches.

The men in the room looked uncomfortable. 

They all shifted and twitched the slightest bits with every movement of the other, and with a light tilt of his mouth, Dick Grayson observed them and thought they all looked like a row of dominos. One moved, and then the next, and the next, and the next- ridiculous, really. 

To be fair, he supposed, every single one of them should be anxious. Each man in this room was a traitor in some way; if they had any brains some of the familiar faces should’ve been a hint as to what was going to go down. So he could see why they were acting all hypersensitive and paranoid. really, he could. But god, were they not subtle at all. It was like they were totally transparent, worry flickering across their scruffy faces, and for a moment Dick wondered how on Earth they had managed to get so far in their... group. They were all amateurs at best. 

Behind him, the cold metal door creaked open, but Dick didn’t turn around, purposefully leaving his vulnerable back wide open, perfect for sinking a knife into. Instead of a cold, sharp blade, he got a warm presence by his side, just out of his eyesight. Carefully, deliberately, he unclasped his attention from the other people at the table and smiled at the teen next to him. 

It was his first true smile of the night, and- despite the overwhelming tenseness and anxiety thickening the air- his heart felt a little bit lighter as he saw him standing there, cloaked in shadows and dark clothes alike. 

“Nice of you to join us,” He said, and angled the entirety of his body towards the figure. _You,_ he said with his body, to the rest of the room, _are not a threat._

_You are not worth my attention._

Somehow the ambience of the room soured even further- which, damn, that was impressive; it looked like he hadn’t quite lost his annoying touch just quite yet- and there was a few quiet grumbles before it was cut off by the wonderful sound of his baby bat’s voice. 

“Tt.” 

Everything fell silent. 

Granted, it was just a simple tongue click, but it was pleasant and more soothing to his ears than anything. Dick _loved_ that little verbal tick.

“You know precisely why I am late, Agent 37,” he dismissed frigidly, and Dick hid his grin behind his glove. It was all theatrics, but the other men in the room didn’t know that. He leaned back, and crossed his legs, propping his face up with his fist and admiring Damian as he stood there. 

Dick gestured to the crowd with a grand flourish of his free hand. “Well, why don’t you share with us anyways? We don’t want to keep our fellows in the dark, now do we?”

He acquiesced, stepping forward into the light and placing one piece of paper on the table, sliding it forward to the middle before removing his sticky fingers and leaving the blotches from his fingertips on the crisp whiteness. A shudder rippled through the goons at the red smeared across the single page; they all now knew something violent, something bloody had gone down.

There were neatly typed columns of numbers within a large table, and several rows had been highlighted with yellow pen- one or two were even underlined with bold, thick lines, but what really sealed the deal was the little dollar sign that was at the beginning of each number. 

And considering they were all turncoats and embezzlers, bribers and abusers gathered together in one of the secret concrete rooms beneath Wayne Tower, that did not bode well for them. 

Not at all. 

“I believe,” Damian addressed the elder, “that they are all now well aware. Well, should be. Hopefully none of these filthy miscreants aren’t too stupid to have not caught on by now.” 

No one dared move an inch and then- a scruffy man drummed his fingers on the side of his chair for a couple of seconds before he abruptly straightened up, eyes glimmering fake confusion and very real fear that was covered up by a sloppy attempt at blankness. “I’m, uh. I’m not sure what yer talking about, sir.” 

Trying to play _innocent._

Damian scoffed and made his way across the room to right behind him and gestured for the paper to be slid over. It was, and Damian leaned over the traitor’s shoulder and straightened it so it was perfectly in place and then slammed the man’s face down onto the unforgiving linoleum with a mighty crack, blood spattering across the table as his nose was effortlessly broken. “Does that make it clear?” He demanded, and ground his head in further. 

“If there’s one thing I hate more than traitors its liars just like you. Do you think I- we- are fools? Is that it? Hm?” The man blabbered out denials and pleas, thrashing around until Damian grabbed his wrists and wrenched them behind his back, tugging them higher so that his victim was now even more flattened down in an attempt to escape from the strain of his arms. “Not only do you disgrace us with your treachery but you insult us with your pathetic attempts to hide what you’ve done, coward.” 

He bared his teeth down at them, and Dick felt arousal curl warmly in his gut. Fuck, his partner was so hot like this, all worked up and passionate and _furious_. 

His pretty mouth was twisted in a scowl, cheeks flushed the tiniest bit because of his anger, eyes ablaze with emotion- in a word, Damian was beautiful like this. Of course he was _always_ gorgeous but Dick loved seeing him like this too. 

But he should probably interfere. (For more reasons than he didn’t want to pop a boner right then and there.) 

The situation- despite being entirely within their control- was already precarious at best and getting everyone too worked up could backfire on them. Despite what they assumed, the plan wasn’t to kill any of them. 

(Yet.) 

Dick leaned back in his chair and laced his hands together behind his head, lounging casually like he wasn’t in a room full of very stressed and very anxious mobsters and caught the younger’s eye. Unsurprisingly, Damian didn’t let up even though he _knew_ what the look being sent his way meant, and instead lifted the man’s head up one more time before smacking it down again like the little brat he was.

_Then_ he stalked over. Dick sighed. 

As soon as Damian was in range, Dick grabbed him by one of his belt loops and roughly manhandled him into his lap, ignoring his angry squirming and silently warning him with a tight squeeze to the back of his neck. _Settle down_. 

He very unhappily did so, but let his head be guided into the crook of Dick’s neck so he was curled up tight without complaint, and Dick rewarded him with a soft pet of his hair. “Sorry about that. Robin here’s a little worked up by all of you… but,” His voice abruptly dropped. “Who can blame him?”

Nosing at his hair, he inhaled deeply. “I can’t,” Came the quiet murmur, and Damian huffed lightly in response, the curve of his cheek hot against his neck. Their current position- Dick with the boss’s bio kid tucked into his lap- wasn’t an unusual one because Damian had been around ever since he was younger, but the _quiet snicker_ was. Ever since someone had laughed when they first began doing this, everyone had very quickly learned to shut up about it. Because if they were lucky, Dick would let the boy up off his chest and let him attack the perpetrator to regain his dignity while if they weren’t Dick _himself_ got involved. Either way blood was spilled and lessons learnt, which was why no one had ever expressed amusement since then- until now. 

_How dare he,_ Dick thought, _how dare he._ Rage burnt through him, an inferno of hatred and disgust, and the quiet stiffening of his baby’s muscles only fueled the flames even more. 

The cut off bit of laughter was unacceptable, and Dick, without looking up from Damian, drew his gun and shot the man directly in the shoulder. 

He _howled_ _,_ and the men around him scrambled away, yelling in surprise and ducking but very quickly shutting up- unlike him. Dick would _make_ him quiet, then. 

Holding Damian up on one arm was difficult but manageable, and so he removed himself from his chair and walked over to the man writhing on the ground. “Howard,” he said, “I’ve always hated you, even before you started stealing and bribing civilians. You’re one of the worst on the list. Hood wanted to take you out back and put you out of commission, but the boss didn’t let him because he believed you could do something good even if you were a shitty bastard. I mean, you know what he says; a dead body is more useless than an alive one. A dead body can’t _work_.” 

Howard thrashed in agony the entire time; _God, he was dramatic._

_And annoying._

It became apparent his din wouldn’t stop any time soon, so Dick tsked and crouched down, muscles straining from cradling his precious burden close to his chest, and shoved the hot muzzle into the man’s wound. 

He tapped the gun on the ground, one two three, one two three, one two three; _Can I?_ Damian pursed his lips didn’t stop him, and Dick knew he had his permission to continue onward. Over the sizzling sound of flesh he ground out- “I agree, usually, but you- you’re much better dead.” 

And then he pulled the trigger. 

Gore splattered on the concrete, and Howard, the man, the now _nobody,_ quieted, mouth gaping open as he died soundlessly but very _very_ painfully. 

_Good._

Damian’s lips curved up into a tiny smile against his flesh, and Dick stood back up, joints cracking a little bit. “Oof.” He said, and used the hand with the gun on it to set onto his back. Grumbling, “Better not be getting less flexible,” Dick leaned back onto it to redistribute his weight more evenly. Putting down Damian wasn’t even a _thought._

“You’re just getting old,” The brat muttered, and in retaliation Dick pinched his ass and got a quiet yelp in return. 

Fondly, he murmured, “Shh.” and bounced his hip once to shimmy Damian further up his body to make up for the slippage he hadn’t been able to prevent. With that, Dick strode his way back to his- now their- chair and flopped down before he finally acknowledged all of the wide-eyed and pale-faced criminals in the room. “Now,” Dick said, “Where were we?” and leaned forward. 

—

Incredibly enough the rest of the- ah, _meeting-_ went well. Not a single one protested to the various punishments assigned to them; if anything, a couple looked quietly rebellious or ground their jaws, but placing his gun on the table made them compliant very quickly. 

Or maybe it was the sniffling of the first man that Damian had disciplined as he tried to set his nose or the cooling body on the floor. Honestly, Dick didn’t really care which, and as he finished up his very threatening spiel he tapped his watch to signal Jason to come in. 

A minute passed, and then there was loud, obnoxious banging on the door before it slammed open, and the Red Hood stepped in with all his glory. “What’s up, fuckers?” He drawled, and Dick rolled his eyes. 

He was _such_ a theatre kid. 

(Dick ignored how they all were, including himself- he was a performer, not an actor. There was a difference!) 

Everyone was quickly cuffed up in a line, and Jason poked the corpse with the tip of his boot.

“Damn, 37, what’d this bastard do? I’m glad he’s dead ‘n shit but last I remember you wanted him _alive."_ Dark humor oozed from him as he gloated, and then he spotted Damian curled up in his lap, hidden by his dark clothing and the shadows of Dick’s body and scoffed. “Nevermind. Someone was mean to the baby, huh?” 

It was a mixture of jealousy and approval, pride and anger, a toss up of emotions that reflected his and Jason’s relationship almost perfectly. Possessively, he pet Damian’s shock of black hair and dropped a kiss on the top of his head. 

Dick smirked, something _mean_ coiling in the angle of his mouth and the set of his jaw, and the other man rolled his eyes. 

“Good job, Dickwad. Thought you’d finally gone _soft."_

As he said that, his gaze dropped to Dick’s crotch meaningfully, and in response he canted them up, jostling the teen in his lap before he tugged him back down, sandwiching him closer to his body. _Mine._ “Me?” he teased, “Never.” 

Jason’s hand curled into a fist for the slightest moment, and then relaxed. “Whatever you say, jerk.” He tossed over his shoulder, and began to yank the chained up criminals along towards the door before he detoured to toss the dead man over his shoulder easily. 

Just before he stepped through, he looked back at the almost-empty room for a moment. “Agent 37,” Jason called, and the eldest tilted his chin just enough to see him from the corner of his eye, preoccupied by Damian. 

“I’d see what Damian has under that jacket of his.” 

And with that he turned around and left without another word. 

The younger man in his lap froze, and Dick let a sinister, mischievous grin crawl onto his face. “Oh?” He cooed, and bounced his knee once to jostle Damian from his hiding spot under his jaw, then reached down to toy with the belt of the trenchcoat. “What’s under here, baby boy?” 

Damian’s skin turned rosy with his blush, and _fuck,_ that pretty shade had to be Dick’s favorite color. He brushed their cheeks together, nuzzling him gently, and nibbled his way across his jaw while he waited for his lover to respond. His plush lips parted, but no sound escaped his mouth until Dick sat back into the chair with one last nip to his sensitive flesh. 

His eyes- which had slid shut as Dick had touched him so gently- snapped open, and he wordlessly protested, leaning forward needily until a solid, big hand on his chest stopped him. He snarled. 

“Grayson-” he snapped, “-get back here.” 

Dick raised an eyebrow, settled his hands on Damian’s hips to hold him back, looking at him up and down. “Someone’s feeling demanding tonight, hm?” Using his teeth, he bit the very fingertip of his soft leather glove and held it in place as he wormed his hand out, then did the same with the other one so his scarred, big hands were bare. Damian swallowed back the moan that snuck up his throat, instead biting at his lower lip. Dick trailed one hand up his body, slowly, and gently set it over his throat. 

He didn’t squeeze or press down, just stroked his thumb across his pulse point, tender and soft, no violence in his touch despite how his visage darkened and eyes shadowed. 

Damian shuddered, feeling the flutter of his heartbeat against his beloved’s palm. “Don’t think I forgot that stunt earlier, _little prince.”_ His breath caught in his ribcage at the reprimand, and he swallowed back a whine building in his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. 

“Come on,” Dick urged quietly, still sitting back and watching, his gaze palpable with its weight. 

With trembling fingers, Damian undid the belt buckle with a quiet clink and slid it from its loops. He set it down, then slowly undid the first button of the jacket with a pop. Dick just watched and spread his legs a little bit more, showing off the bulge that was slowly swelling up with each undone button as a reward. 

Once they were all separated, the only thing preventing Dick from seeing what lay beneath was Damian himself. He kept both sides clutched together protectively with his knuckles whitened from the tension of pulling so hard, but Dick didn’t say a word. 

Dick just watched. 

He was making Damian decide what to do, when do let himself be vulnerable, and by god he fucking _hated_ that tactic. 

(Because it always worked. Dick never forced or coerced him unless he asked him to, and somehow that was worse than anything. 

It was so _kind._ Too kind for him, he thought, but Dick disagreed and instead lavished him in it, swaddled and coddled him in it like it could make him better, or less hurt. In some ways that made him ache more than any physical blow or harsh word ever could- he was the cruelest, most sadistic of every single lover he’d had, in that way.)

He let go, and the fabric fell open. 

Dick _choked._ It was- it was a fucking _dress,_ a scarlet red like blood and perfectly tailored to his beloved’s body, obviously high quality, and it seemed to shimmer in the low lighting, making Damian ethereal. He dragged his gaze slowly up his body, drinking it in like the finest of wine before his large hands immediately grabbed the younger’s hips in a bruisingly tight grip. It was gorgeous, but what really made Dick’s cock harden inhumanly fast was the fact that this handsome being draped in this clothing was all _his_. 

“Shit,” he swore, and yanked Damian right on top of his thick erection, eagerly grinding up into him. He shoved the rest of the coat off of him- god, his shoulders were bare, his back was _bare-_ and greedily clutched him closer to himself, fingernails digging into his exposed skin. “For an undercover op?” Dick asked, “Or for me?” and felt his boy nod against his shoulder to the second statement. 

“For you in the next meeting,” he gasped out, “-wanted to make them all jealous-”

Teeth sank into his flesh as Dick growled lowly against the other’s dark skin and thrust his hips up excitedly, and Damian couldn’t hold back his wail at both the pain and the pleasure he was being assaulted with. “-of you,” he finished weakly. Rough hands roamed over his body, gripping and squeezing and Damian moaned at how _frantically,_ almost _ferally_ Dick was groping at him. 

That answer didn’t seem to satisfy him, so Damian continued. “Sh-show- _oh!_ \- that m’yours.” 

“So what you’re saying,” The older man said lowly, “Is that you wanted to be my pretty little side-piece. My fucktoy. You, _Robin,_ the boss’s youngest son, being _owned_ by me.” 

Damian sobbed out, “Yes!” and clawed at Dick’s shoulders, dragging him down into a hard kiss, lips and tongue sloppily and messily meeting the other’s mouth like he was a bitch in heat.

Grabbing the short dark hair at his scalp, Dick dragged Damian even closer to him and fucked his thick tongue past Damian’s swollen lips until jade eyes _rolled_ in his head as his mouth was shamelessly plundered.

Without breaking their kiss, the elder man heaved them both up off the chair, hands joining Damian up by the bottoms of his thighs, and sat him down on the cold table, before spreading his legs open and dragging him to the edge by his ass so Dick could aggressively frot up against him. “So damned lucky-” he panted, “can’t beli- _eve_ you’re all _mine._ So f-fucking pretty and _perfect_ for me, sweetheart- so _good_.” 

His calloused palm smoothed up Damian’s leg due to the side slit, and he dipped his fingers beneath the hem to get to what they both wanted so badly. The tips of his fingers met something round and cylindrical, cold, and he abruptly stopped. “Damian-” he began, but he was cut off by Damian’s chest arching into his to push out his ass. Slowly, he experimentally tugged on the top of the base of the object, gritting his teeth at the wet suctiony sound that followed and the warm liquid that dripped down onto his fingers. “Is that-?” Dick breathed, and Damian smirked.

He didn’t need to answer. Dick knew what it was; it was their biggest plug, the one that hardly ever got used because Damian (that masochist) always bitched about how it took away the burn of Dick’s cock sliding into his asshole. Said it made him loose and open like a slut, and that he only ever wanted to be like that because of the real thing. 

But here he was, wide and gaping, and Dick’s cock _pulsed_ against the fabric covering it up, a wet patch quickly growing where the head rested because of the pre-cum that was dribbling down his cock. He captured Damian’s lips again, biting at them until he drew blood and then swiped his tongue across the seam, lapping at the bleeding skin to soothe it, all while he fished out his leaking prick. His teeth pulled at the reddened, hot flesh until Damian whined, and then he let it snap back into place when the tension released. “I want it,” the brat demanded as soon as he could, “I want it in me.” 

Dick didn’t say a word or move Damian in any position for him to slide in. Instead, he simply stroked up and down his thick length and slickened it up, running his fingers along the throbbing, angry veins while his other hand reached downward to free his balls from the confines of his pants as well. The sack hung heavily for a moment before he gathered them into the palm of his hand and rolled them gently, groaning sensually and letting his head tip back, sweaty bangs falling in front of his eyes and fringe flopping over. 

“Richard!” Damian snapped, and yanked at his shirt needily. 

He continued to ignore him, playing with his wet tip and pumping at his cock until the foreskin loosened enough the scrunch back and forth along the head, paying his lover no attention. (Not really, but Damian wasn’t using his _manners_.) 

It took him a moment, but he caught on; he’d had this particular lesson on politeness and manners drilled into him- quite literally- enough that he was always quick to remember it. “Oh for- Richard, _please?_ ” 

Instantly he was maneuvered like a ragdoll, and before he could even yelp the head prodded at his rim. His pink lips fell open, and he bucked his hips forward, wanting. Dick wasn’t quite done with his torment though, and rubbed around his swollen rim, marking him up with his sticky precum until he was biting back frustrated tears. He finally angled himself and stood there for a second, waiting to see if Damian was going to try and thrust down onto his dick, but like a good boy he kept still. 

His cock popped past the rim and first ring of muscles, and then Dick sank into him balls-deep with one hard thrust while Damian keened. There was hardly any stretch, and god, he slid forward so easily, like his hole was all sloppy from being freshly fucked and not because of a wide plug keeping him leveraged open. 

“There you go, baby,” He murmured, and roughly ground against Damian’s prostate. “Fuck, darling, that’s it… I’ll fuck you good and proper now, okay? You’ve been so good.” Dick pressed their foreheads together. “My good boy.” 

Damian cried out, his hidden cock twitching at the praise like he was seconds away from cumming- which he probably was- so Dick began to fuck him roughly, using the momentum of his hips to pull his lover deeper and harder onto his cock. He took him like a dream, drooling and mewling with only weak jolts of his hips as he tried to get that cock spearing him open deeper, and Dick felt an overwhelming rush of possessiveness and love wash over him. “Damian,” He gasped, “Damian, shit, my perfect baby, come on, cum for me, darling.” All he got was a fucked out sob, so he reached down and ground the palm of his hand against his hot bulge. “You can do it,” Dick urged, “Do it for me. Fucking _cum,_ baby bat, show me how much you love this, how much you love _me._ ” 

Damian’s dick strained as he tipped over the edge, and Dick let his eyes lid in satisfaction.

“That’s it,” He cooed, “There you go.” His boy practically shrieked and rubbed furiously against his hand until warmth bloomed, and that was when Dick really began to pound him and his spasming little hole. “God,” He growled, “I’m gonna cum in you, go-nna fill you up, shit-” 

“Please,” Damian begged, voice cracking, “-please, I need it in me, I’ve been good, Grayson, _please-_ ” 

Dick came with a shout, ramming himself in one last time and feeling his tip pulse deep within Damian before his cum burst out, stuffing up his tiny hole with his warm cum, fulfilling his promise and doing what him and Damian both _needed._ As they both began to wind down, he didn’t pull out but instead kept his soft cock within him, absentmindedly rocking back and forth. They stayed connected and tied together, comfortable in a way that they could be with no one else until Dick reluctantly pulled back, thumbing at the drying tear tracks on Damian’s face. He gently reminded him, “The meeting starts soon.” and began to withdraw outwards passed the clenching muscles. 

A hand on his ass stopped him, and maintaining eye contact Damian gently pushed him forward, back into his warm wet hole, and brushed away some of the hair strewn across his face. 

“Did you forget what I said?” Damian asked, and his tiny hand possessively tightened around his thigh. He leaned forward. “I said I wanted to make the men in the meeting _jealous_ of you.” 

“And what better way,” Dick’s boy said, “Than to have me in your lap?” 

Still buried within Damian’s hole, Dick swore he felt his cock twitch interestedly. He geared up to tell him no, that under no circumstance was that going to happen- even the thought of this soft, post-orgasm Damian still all dressed up for him made ire burn in his belly- but he was quickly silenced with one word and the fluttering of thick, inky eyelashes. 

“Please?” 

—

  
_ "They chose each other, despite their impending expiration date. That’s what love is. It gives you a choice." _

_ So perhaps love- and the choice to own each other- made it so that it was the same, for them.  _

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on my Twitter (https://mobile.twitter.com/rottencloset)
> 
> (gently does an interpretative dance) please comment champ?

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Care for a baby bird](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27663079) by [Female_Bellpepper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Female_Bellpepper/pseuds/Female_Bellpepper)




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